Jellicle Cats Develop Slowly
by Jellicle-in-the-box
Summary: Not your usual Cats fic... it's not about the characters, but rather about a girl playing Bombalurina in Cats on Broadway. My first Fic... tell me how it was!
1. The Theatre

**Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to the play Cats or the characters of Bombalurina or Misto... All the characters in this story are fictional though, and are not in any way based on real people. Well, not much...**

**Author's Note:** Some of the chapters of this story may seem a little short. I originally wrote it as one long piece for a class, and decided it was good enough to post here. Updates will be quick, if my internet cooperates. The whole story is written already...

Chapter 1: The Theatre

The streets were cold and covered in snow. The girl slipped through the door into the lobby, shutting it quickly behind her. She pulled her coat off and walked into the empty theatre, grateful for the warm gust of air blowing down from a vent above the door. She looked around her, taking in the sight of the immense bare stage, the velour red seats, the lights hanging from the catwalk. Looking up behind her, she saw the balcony, with the wide ledge in front of the railing.

"Looking for something?" a voice asked from behind her. She jumped and turned around. There was a man standing there grinning. He was young, not much older than she was. He was tall and had an uneven smile, larger on the right side than the left. His short red hair framed his face where his glass green eyes shone from underneath his light eyebrows.

"Yes, the read through. For Cats," she muttered, feeling short and insignificant next to his vibrant persona. She swallowed and looked down at her hands holding her coat.

"Are you our new Bombalurina?" He asked, trying to fill the sudden silence.

"Yes. You?"

"Mistoffelees."

"That's my favorite song!" she blurted. "I listen to it all the time. I'm trying to listen to the songs I have to learn, but I just end up listening to your song. It's got great harmony. I love the dance that the original cast did. I can't wait to see you do it." Then she stopped and looked down again. "I kind of ramble on sometimes. Sorry." With that, the young man burst out laughing. He had a deep, genuine laugh. The girl couldn't help but join in.

"Glad to see I have a fan already," he said. "I haven't even learned the song yet." With that he held out his hand. She took it hesitantly and slowly shook it up and down.

"I'm Cara," she said.

"James. Lets go meet the cast," he said as he led her to the dance studio, where most of the cast was already waiting.

The first few weeks of music rehearsal were difficult. Seeming to notice this, James met her at the door every morning. As they walked to the rehearsal room, James tried everything possible to lighten Cara's mood and make her chuckle.

"O-M-G, major line at Starbucks today. I almost didn't get my coffee," James commented one time with a flash of his signature smile.

"Please tell me you didn't just say O-M-G," Cara said trying to hide her amusement by rolling her eyes.

"What, only girls can say O-M-G?" he asked innocently.

"Nobody should say O-M-G. It's not even a word!" Cara retorted. By that point they were at the door to the practice room. James held the door open for Cara as she passed, bowing low and murmuring, "After you, milady." Cara put one foot behind the other and dipped her head in a modest curtsey.

"Why thanks ever so, Sir James," she replied, and entered the room laughing.

Each pulling a folding chair off of the cart, the two separated, each moving to sit with their vocal groups. Cara usually sat next to her understudy, as they had to learn the same part. The two rarely had time to say more than a simple hello, though. The musical director kept them busy with scales and warm-ups for a quarter of an hour before they even started practicing. When the slow fifteen minutes had dragged by, they left the piano altogether to work on the lyrics.

Words. That's all they did for most of the morning. Words. Sitting in their semicircle with their scripts on their laps, they stumbled through the play, trying out the words and beats. They didn't learn even one note until they could all say the words in time to the proper rhythm. Those rehearsals seemed to drag on forever. Cara absently stared at her watch for whole "songs" at a time waiting for the hands to meet at 12:00 announcing lunch break.

Lunchtime was always fun. Every day they ordered in or took out lunch, the thirty-one Cats chowing down on sandwiches or Chinese noodles. They relaxed at lunch, breaking out of the characters they had to maintain for rehearsals. The professionals joked and teased each other, reminding Cara of kindergarteners. They fought over pickles, threw wrappers, slurped noodles. At first, Cara was uncomfortable, but soon she joined in. Slowly, she dissolved into the cast like the receding tide into the sand.


	2. The First Dance

**Disclaimer: If I were as musically talented as Andrew Loyd Webber, or as poetically talented as T. S. Eliot, I would be getting paid for my own writing instead of using their ideas to post stories on sadly, I'm not.**

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One Monday as they finished lunch, their director, Jonathan, walked in leading a short woman in a light blue leotard and gray sweatpants. She had dirty blond hair that was kept back in a ponytail. She looked from person to person, her dark brown eyes reflecting the sunlight that fell on her face from the window. The woman walked lightly on her feet and was wearing black dance shoes. Everyone turned and slowly silence fell. The new Cats looked at each other in confusion, but the few veterans grinned.

"Brenda!" They all cried as they jumped up from the table. The six or seven actors who had been in the previous production ran to her, smothering her in a giant group hug. The noise in the room escalated to a dizzying high until Jonathan placed his fingers to his lips and blew hard. A sharp whistle pierced the noise and relative silence fell again.

"As most of you can tell, this is Brenda," Jonathan said, his amusement showing in his eyes for a split second. Brenda gave a wave as she extracted herself from the mass of performers. Jonathan's humor disappeared and he looked from face to face sternly. "She will be your choreographer. You all will respect her as you respect me. One bad report, and you're off the show. I know this is your Broadway debut for most of you, so you don't know how we do rehearsals on the big stage. We have two and a half months until we open and there is no time for goofing off." There was absolute silence from the cast. All traces of excitement had disappeared like the wispy rain clouds at the end of a storm. Every face was turned to Jonathan as he spoke, his deep baritone voice echoing through the acoustically built music room. Jonathan took a breath and spoke again.

"Now, dance rehearsals are dangerous if you're not stretched properly. One sore muscle will make the difference between looking like a cat and acting like a cat. You will stretch for half an hour before every dance rehearsal." Nearly the entire cast groaned.

One of the older actresses leaned in toward Cara and whispered loudly, "He makes this speech about once a week. He _thinks_ we still listen." Cara snorted and James, sitting next to her, chuckled. Jonathan turned to glare at them, and then pointedly ignored them and continued with his lecture.

"If I hear complaints, well, cope. Brenda stays and she won't change her dances to fit your whims. You experienced Cats are the dance captains. You know the dances already. You help Brenda teach anyone who needs more practice. Now all of you have thirty minutes to finish lunch and change into dance clothes. It goes by my watch. Don't be late." Jonathan turned to leave, but stopped in the doorframe. He turned back around and looked at the woman sitting next to Cara. Then he smiled for the first time that day. "I hope you listened this time," he said, and walked out the door.

The first time stretching was impossible for Cara. She had always considered herself flexible, but she had nothing compared to the trained dancers. She often prided herself on her ability to place her hands flat on the floor with her legs straight. Now she was struggling to touch the backs of her wrists to the hardwood floor—a feat everyone else seemed to do with ease. She had always been able to sit in a straddle, grab either foot with both hands and place her head on her knee. But now she just watched as everyone else held both feet and placed their foreheads to the ground.

Cara left that day feeling more sore than she had in years. She trudged through the muddy snow five blocks to her apartment building. There was nobody in the lobby or the elevator, and Cara went to her apartment in silence. She slammed the door behind her, sending her kitten running for cover under the bed. She dropped her coat on the floor next to the door and sank onto the couch. She breathed deeply, pulling air into her nose and letting it out in a sigh. Slowly, the tears began to form, hot and salty, rolling down her cold, pink cheeks. She sniffed and wiped the tears away furiously. She felt like a spoiled child who was told that she couldn't have another candy. It was not worth crying over. She was not going to cry. It was just one stupid rehearsal, and it hadn't even been that bad, she told herself. She was not going to—

Her coat pocket buzzed and the jacket shook. The sudden noise shocked the lump out of her throat. Wiping her face with her sleeve, Cara rushed to the door. She pulled her cell phone out of the pocket and flipped it open.

"Hello?" Cara said, trying not to let her tears carry through into her voice.

"Hey, it's James. What's up? You okay?" came the crackling voice from the phone.

"Oh, hey James. Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, a bunch of us are going out to dinner. You wanna come?" And just like that, her sorrow lifted. She and James spent fifteen minutes on the phone, making plans and just chatting. By the time they had hung up, Cara was cheerful and lively again.

When Cara came home from dinner with her friends, she entered her apartment much more calmly than she had earlier. She hung her coat up in the closet and headed toward her room. Her kitten sat in the doorway with his head tilted and his tail slowly twitching back and forth. The cat stood up and stretched, as if to say, "What took you so long?" Cara laughed and led the small black cat to the kitchen, where she put his dinner in a bowl and placed it on the floor in front of him. As he began to eat, rubbing against her legs, Cara thought back to the fun time she had had with her cast.

"This is going to be a fun few months," She whispered to her pussycat. He purred in agreement.


	3. Two Months Left

**Disclaimer: In my own fantasy world, I wrote Cats... music, words, everyting. In that same world, pigs _don't_ fly, but they do live in an underwater utopia with Elvis Presley and Amelia Earhart. Suffice to say, my fantasy world doesn't exist.**

Author's Note: This story does not continue into the time of the play, and only encompasses the rehearsals. Now I will say no more regarding plot...

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It was two months before the play. Music rehearsals were review by now; touch up for the notes and words. Cara thrived on those practices. She had often hoped to be a triple threat: singer, dancer, and actor, but what she loved most of all was singing. When she began a song, it was like nothing mattered. All she had to do was sing those words, believe those words, live those words. Her clear, high voice rang out above everyone else's, hitting the highest notes as she had been trained since childhood. She could feel her ears ringing from the vibrations in her throat. It seemed to warm her entire body. It was these rehearsals that made Cara again and again remember how special it is, being in a play.

As they began to perfect their music, they had to sing as they danced. This was where Cara tripped up. She had never before had to sing and dance together. She had balance built up from a childhood of gymnastics, but grace was something she had yet to acquire. Cara had a good mind for choreography, and picked up quickly on the order of the steps, but it was the combination that threw her off. She was certain, though, that if she tried hard enough, she would get it.

Cara twirled to her right and raised her arm. She spun again, this time to the left and landed with her arms outstretched, almost touching the waist of the Cat in front of her. She took three steps backwards, right left right, same as always. The problem was that everybody else stepped left right left.

"Cara! Fix your feet!" Brenda called, loudly enough to be heard by everybody over the singing and piano.

"Yes, Brenda," Cara muttered, feeling herself blush. She silently cursed herself for messing it up again. The next time they ran it through, Cara began biting her lip long before the first turn, but she never stepped with the left foot again.


	4. Six Weeks Left

It was six weeks until the play. As always, Cara walked into the theatre last. But for the first time, James wasn't waiting for her at the door. She walked slowly to the dressing room to change into her dance clothes. As she approached the door, she felt something behind her. A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

"Boo," someone whispered. Cara stared at the face with her mouth open. It was a ghostly, pale white, lighter than any natural skin. He had black lines beginning at the center of his lips and tracing the place where they touched. The lines ran across his cheek and upward, making his laughing smile seem even larger. There were more lines surrounding his face and flowing outward. His eyebrows were lined, beginning halfway down his nose and flowing up and outward when they reached the edges of his eyes. One of his green eyes was traced in black, bringing the edge out nearly to his hairline. In his hand, he held a black makeup pencil.

"James?" Cara asked in disbelief.

"Guess what we're starting today," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and leading her to the dressing rooms. "Makeup. And if you thought mine was bad, just wait until you see everyone else's."

She walked into the room with trepidation. She looked around and saw people lining the edges of the room, all concentrating on the mirrors in front of them. She followed James to the area where his stuff was laid out and sat down beside him. She opened the small bag she found there with her name on it and looked inside. In it were a few sticks of greasepaint in varying shades of reddish browns, a bottle of mascara, and black face paint with a fine-tipped paintbrush. Cara stared at the paint in wonder.

"I've never done makeup like this before," she said to James. "I don't even wear lipstick most of the time."

"You think I have had practice?" he asked, trying not to move his face as he carefully traced his other eye. Cara sighed and turned back to her own mirror. She looked at her face, trying to decide how to begin.

She dipped a makeup sponge into a tub of white greasepaint and smeared it across her forehead. It clung to her eyebrow and felt heavy. She took a breath and shut her eyes, painting a mask of white over her eyes. She painted another thick stripe running down her nose, widening to create a muzzle around her mouth, and followed the line down her neck until it disappeared into her neckline. Using another sponge, she filled in the rest of her face with a maroon color. Pausing for a moment, she scrutinized her new face in the mirror.

Frowning, she turned her head side to side to see all angles of her makeup. She looked like a Crusader's flag, and not the least bit like a cat. The dark burgundy had smudged the white and left her looking dirty and unkempt. She ran a finger over her cheek, and saw that she hadn't even applied the makeup thick enough.

Bent over the bathroom sink, Cara scrubbed at her face to get the greasepaint off, but it was sticking to her skin.

"I can feel the pimples forming under this junk," she muttered to herself as she scoured her nose.

Walking back to her makeup station, she sat down again and tried again. After three tries, Cara still didn't like the way she looked. Just as she was going to reapply the paint for a fifth time, she heard everyone else starting to pack up. James came back from the bathroom, his face bright red from the scrubbing.

"I liked your makeup," Cara said as he put his makeup into the carrying case.

"Thanks. Yours was good too," he replied. Cara made a face. "Well, it will be good," James amended. "Do you want me to help you? It's easier to get it the first time if someone else paints it for you. Once you find a design you like, you can learn from that."

"Thanks," Cara said. "I think I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"Don't worry about it," James said lightly. "We all need a bit of a nudge sometimes. You've got a great eye for color, and once you get the pattern down one time I know you can do it again." James said. Cara smiled faintly as she packed up her own makeup, and the two walked out of the theatre together.


	5. One Month Left

**Disclaimer: As any friend of mine could tell you, I'm too obsessed over Cats. I have good reason to be: I was lucky enough to be in a performance of it recently. Unfortunately, I was not lucky enough to have written it.**

Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! Also special thanks to Sarah, who probably has more of a life than I do (though less sanity), and still manages to proofread all my stories!

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It was one month to the play. They had begun to live in their characters. Jonathan decided to have another chat with them. Like every other time, he appeared at the end of lunch. This time, he was holding two large boxes, each filled with paper shopping bags. Unlike every other announcement, Jonathan had very little to say. He placed the bags on the floor in front of him. 

"Costumes," he said, and left the room.

Every bag was labeled by character. Each actor took their bag and fled, running to the dressing rooms. About five minutes later, there came wails and gales of laughter.

The costumes were painted bodysuits.

The day after costumes were issued Jonathan gave the speech he had skipped the day earlier. He walked in the door after lunch again, but today they were all in costume. To keep from staining the artfully dyed suits, or possibly to cover the form-fitting outfits, nearly everyone wore a plain bathrobe over their costumes. Jonathan walked in wearing a pair of dark jeans and a blue turtleneck, the only human among thirty-one "Cats".

"Nice job this past few weeks," he began. Everyone smiled. Jonathan's praise was rare enough, and it was a treat for them to hear it given so broadly. "But now we have to get serious. Opening night is five weeks from tomorrow. I want all of you believing you are cats, from the minute you enter this theatre until after you leave the lobby. You cannot 'blank out' when you are onstage. I know you have long times between your songs, but you have to _stay _a_ cat_." Jonathan looked from face to face, staring at each of the actors and actresses in turn. When he felt he had paused too long, he spoke up again.

"Who of you has a cat?" he asked. About a fourth of the cast raised their hands, including Cara. Then Jonathan made the oddest request he had ever asked them to do.

"I want you to become your cat." He said. "If you don't have a cat, borrow one. Buy one. Adopt one. I don't care how you find one, but I want you each to spend at least an hour everyday being a cat." With no more explanation, Jonathan left again. The room began to buzz with the noise of thirty voices whispering at once. Cara smiled and thought about her cute little black kitten. This was an easy assignment.


	6. One Week Left

**Dislaimer: I think I have used up my quota of witty disclaimers for this story... Basically, it's not mine, so don't sue me...**

Author's Note: This is the shortest chapter, and I'm sorry if you think it's _too _short. Don't worry, the next chapter will be up by tonight... that's the last chapter.

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It was the week before the play. The morning went by quickly. The entire cast had done their makeup and gotten in costumes in less than half an hour, the exact time they had been working for. Lunchtime rolled around and Jonathan called the sandwich shop that was a block away from the theatre. As usual, they refused to deliver, even for such a large order. Jonathan sent Cara and her understudy, the only two people already changed back into street clothes, to pick up lunch. 

"Are you ready for the play, Cara?" her understudy asked as they walked down the street, both still wearing their makeup. The pedestrians stared as the pair walked around the corner, but Cara ignored them the best she could.

"I can't wait," Cara said. "I'm so excited to open next week. My whole family's coming to see me for opening night. My brother and his girlfriend are flying up from Florida."

"Wow," the younger girl said. "They really want to see you in this play."

"Yeah. They've been to every concert I've done. I just hope I don't mess up or anything."

"You won't. You're one of the best singers we've got. I know I only got this understudy part for my dancing. I can't sing even half as well as you." The girl blushed with embarrassment.

"You're great," Cara said encouragingly. "You'll get a chance to perform sometime, don't worry."

"I hope so," Cara's understudy said with a sigh as they walked into the shop. They walked the rest of the way back in silence.

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a/n: see, I told you it was short...;-) don't worry, the next and last chapter will be up soon... Jellicle-in-the-box 


	7. Opening Night

**Disclaimer: If you don't know by now that Cats is not mine, you're even stupider than my cat. Not that my cat is stupid. I mean, could you catch a bird with a bell on your collar? I didn't think so.**

Author's Note: well, here it is... the last chapter of Jellicle Cats Develop Slowly. Thanks so much to all my reviewers!! I hope you like(d) the story!

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It was the morning before opening night. Cara awoke with the excitement of Christmas Eve morning. She wiggled her toes under the covers, chasing the cat around the foot of the bed. Suddenly, her cat jumped from the bed and ran howling to the window to watch a squirrel outside on a tree branch. 

"What are you doing, silly?" Cara asked. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her voice was as raw as if she had been screaming. She gasped and ran to the mirror. Looking far back into her throat, she could see how red it was.

"Hello," she said to her reflection, testing out her voice. It sounded scratchy. She groaned and hurried to the kitchen to make tea with honey. She needed a lot of honey so she could heal her throat. Cara used almost half of the jar. Just as she left the kitchen the phone rang. She picked it up and instantly recognized James' voice. Cradling the mug of hot tea in one hand, Cara sat down on the couch to talk.

"Hey Cara, you ready for opening night?" James asked. Cara nodded enthusiastically. There was no response. "Cara?" James called. Cara nodded again and opened her mouth, afraid to let him hear her rough voice. "Cara, this is a _phone_. I can't _see_ you," James explained patiently as if to a two-year-old, his smile audible in his tone. "Are you nodding?"

"Yes," Cara croaked. She heard a faint gasp from on the phone. "I'm fine," she said quickly. "I'll be fine by tonight, at least. I'm not going to let a little sore throat take my spotlight."

"You're kidding, right?" James asked in disbelief.

"No, why would I? I've been working on this, like, forever, why would I give it all up to the understudy for _opening night_? I'm not going to throw all that work down the drain."

"So you'd rather throw away all the work everyone else did." James said quietly.

"What? What do you mean? How is wanting to be in my _one_ minute in the limelight going to ruin it for everyone else?" Cara said, frowning.

"Well, what happens if your voice goes in the middle of a song? How's that going to make the rest of us look?" James still spoke calmly, but there was a hint of anger behind his words.

"But, James! It's my one chance! There's not going to be another opening night. All the press and my family will be there, and everyone will be looking for me." Even to herself, Cara sounded like she was begging. She bit her lip and raised her chin. "I'm going on tonight, and that's the final word," she said stubbornly. Cara listened closely for a reply but heard nothing. She thought she heard, "…thought better of you," but when she called out James' name she only heard the dial tone.

Hanging up the phone and tossing it onto the table across the room, she saw the cat sitting in front of it. He stood up and walked to her, rubbing against her legs and mewing loudly. Cara sighed and stood up too. Her kitten twined around her legs and pushed her toward the phone.

"I know, I know," Cara managed to say to her cat in a clear voice. "I'll call him." Her voice cracked again, and she smiled sadly. Reaching for the phone again, she slowly dialed Jonathan's number and waited for him to pick up. She spoke softly to him, trying not to hurt her voice more, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

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Well, there it was. The final chapter. Please tell me what you thought! Even if you don't like it, it really does help my writing when I get your reviews! 


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